Big Brother
by toadstoolcouch
Summary: Pickles and Seth meet up after years of separation when the band's parents are allowed to visit. Horrendous flashbacks and Seth's present, lecherous actions lead to Pickles' final snapping point. Incest, slash, extreme. Complete


Big Brother

"That slimy, fucking douche bag!" I took a breath and pretended not to notice everyone freakin' looking at me like they'd never heard me cussing before. "I do NOT want that faggot comin' over here, fuck's sake," I added and took a drink. I listened to Murderface tell me that I wasn't the only one who'd have to put up with their relatives coming over to bug the shit out of them, but really just to not piss the bastard off by seeming rude. I didn't know his story, or anyone else's, but I guaranfuckingtee that no one would have a better reason to dread a family reunion than me. Fucking no one. Even if one of those douche bags had parents that used to beat them, they'd still have nothing on me, because an abusive parent's not going be able to smack the shit out of their kid when they're grown. And even if they did, it's not like the kid, now fully grown, couldn't just give his old man a good punch in the gut for all those years of abuse.

I'm full grown, and I still can't fight back. And now, I have to face this evil fucker again. Again!

Still close to me, Murderface invited me to wet my lips with him at the bar, and I was glad to. Booze is the best medicine, and it made even a hairy slug like Murderface personable. Aw, I guess he's not a slug, per se, but, well I don't know. I was grateful for some company after hearing that terrible news either way.

The way over there, I was blessed with a fun filled flashback. Like staring at a nasty car crash on the side of the road, I remembered.

***

I was in my room, listening to Guns 'N Roses, counting the bits of pieces of money I had stashed under the bed. In a box right next to my weed. A stupid place to hide it, since Seth knew I kept my valuables under there, but since our parents had taken the locks from the doors, I was really only hiding my stuff from them. For the most part, thankfully, Seth stayed the Hell out of my weed. I never saw him smoke. I was making sure that day, like I do every day, that he hadn't taken any of my money, though.

Our parents were gone for the day. Golfing. Since they left I hid in my room, nervous as all Hell. I let myself smoke a nug, but just a small one, because I'd wanted to not be too fucked up when Seth came.

I dropped some coins when he burst in my room. Waiting for him always made me jumpy. "Whatcha saving up for?" he sneered and he just waltzed right up to my bed, like this was his room. He always came in my room like that, while he would get pissed as Hell if he saw me in his room. Then he sat down next to me and pulled the bills out of my hands.

"What the fuck?" I said and I reached for my money, but as usual, he held his hand just out of reach. I had to get up off my stomach and off the bed to try to get it. This was the oldest fucking trick in the bully's book, but damn did he love the old make-me-reach-for-it game, pulling his hand away whenever I got close. "Give it back!" I was forced to yell. I guess you'd tell me to just sit and wait him out, that there was no use making an ass out of myself by jumping around like a fucking monkey, because he'd give it back eventually. But you had to do shit like that with Seth. You'd have to humiliate yourself and give him your fucking throat before he'd relent. "I'll tell Mahm!"

"Then I'll tell her what else you have under your bed, jackass," Seth smirked and finally he tossed my money over my head. I had to stoop to pick up the bills that fluttered all over the place.

"You're always trying to threaten me with that," I growled as I put my money back in the shoe box.

"Do you want me to tell her, douche bag?" he snapped, and just as he reached out for me I threw the box under the bed and scrambled away from him. He caught me just when I got to the door. "Huh? Answer me!" He was holding me tightly around the shoulders and using his knee to force me still while I fought to get out of his arms. He missed my crotch, but it still hurt to get kneed in the thigh. He had me hard against the door when he practically ripped my hair out and shouted in my face to answer him. He just wanted to hear me say it.

"No!" To be honest, I really didn't care. At first I worried constantly that he'd tell on me, and I would even try to mollify him, try to basically bribe him to keep it secret, but then I realized that for one thing, it was fun for him to make a big deal out of it, scaring me into doing something for him. For another, I knew that he would tell our parents whenever it suited him; I could have no control over that at all. And you know what? I didn't care. I'd get in trouble, whatever, I'd just have to find a new hiding spot and limit my sessions to when I was at school or with a friend. Shit, it wasn't crack or anything, I could wait.

But I had to pretend that I was scared and that he had won. "I won't tell Mahm if you take my money, Jesus Christ. Let go, Seth, please."

He just pulled on my hair harder, yanking my head way back. He loved doing that, fucking with my hair, pulling it so hard I'd get tears in my eyes. I'm amazed I didn't go bald way back then. He'd give me shit for fixing up my hair, too, and he'd love to knock my brush out of my hand or try to hide my hairspray. I knew it was because he was jealous. Not that he seemed the type that would even grow his hair long, but he still hated me for it.

I could see his teeth sticking out of his mouth as he leered down into my face, and his breath was hot on my neck. He just kept pulling, but with my head anchored on the wall, it was like he was trying to pull it out. "Stop!" I said, but he only pulled harder, his hands tight fists. He also had a hand tight around my waist and the fingertips were digging into me. The worst part about these times when he would hurt me was that I could never predict what would happen next. He was just as capable of letting me go after a few seconds of torture as he was to draw it out for nearly an hour. And he would remember what hurt the most, what was the most uncomfortable, no matter how hard I'd try to not give anything away. "Geahh, you're hurting me!"

"Good," he snarled, and then slugged me in the gut. With his hand still gripping my hair, I couldn't move in reaction to the punch, just grunt with pain and squint my eyes.

"The fuck is your problem?" I breathed, my belly aching.

"You," he said, and he finally let go of my hair. I wasn't free though; he slapped me to the floor and walked up to me as I tried to get up.

"What did I do?" I asked with an arm over my face. I stopped trying to get up when he pushed his foot into my stomach.

"You were born," he sneered, pushing harder. Then he took his foot off and said, "Get up, faggot." He watched me as I stood up, and I can still see clearly to this day the look in his eyes. Something crazy and dangerous. He went to shut the door and then said as he came back, "Take your clothes off." He said this in a horribly lewd, cruel voice.

I just stood there, totally taken aback by what he said. His expression told me he was serious, and waiting. "What?" was all I could say.

"Goddamn it, Pickles, take your fucking clothes off before I do it for you!" he growled, and he came closer to me like he would.

"Fuck off, Jesus, you weirdo!" I said, backing away. "What are you, gay? I'm not getting naked in front 'a you!" I ran around the other side of the bed when he lunged for me. This was only in the hopes of slowing him down, but he climbed over it and grabbed my hair and used it to slam me on the bed. I screamed for him to stop and fought him hard as he punched me over and over and held my arms down.

"You'd better hold the fuck still," he snarled and slapped my face really hard. "Looks like I will have to do it myself," he said into my ear. I shivered from the feeling of his breath inside my ear, and then screeched, "Fuck!" when he bit it. He held on for a long time, too, before fighting with me over my shirt. I was so scared, so godamn scared. I didn't have any idea what the Hell was going on, I couldn't understand what he was thinking. And even though he was the one who stripped me, and I had fought him as hard as I could, I still felt so ashamed the entire time.

"What are you doing?" I yelled, and then he pressed his knee into my bare cock.

"You gotta stop fighting," he warned and he pressed his knee in really hard to make his point. "Stay still like a good little faggot."

By then I had tears running down my face, and I could barely breathe. "What the fuck are you doing, Seth?" I squeaked.

He leaned down and snarled in my face, "Shut up and relax." He pushed one finger up my asshole and I screamed, mostly from shock, and writhed. "Feel good?" he asked and actually pulled my body a fraction of an inch down the bed with just that finger. He had to push it forward and hit my prostate to do it, so I had given him that first cry of pleasure that he'd been waiting for. I was blushing madly and hating myself for feeling anything like that, and then he pressed it again, this time with two fingers.

"Stop it!" I screamed, and reached up to grab his sleeves, but he socked me across the face and pushed those fingers in deeper and wriggled them. Dammit, it felt fucking good but it hurt as well. I felt kinda like I was taking a shit, only in reverse. But the way he was fingering me makes me think now that he had done that before; he knew just how to press to make me feel really good, and how to make it hurt. I kept begging him to stop, but by this time I was panting from all the intense sensations.

"I knew you'd like that, you fucking queer," he snarled as he yanked his fingers out. I stared up at him with this horrified look on my face and then tried to make a break for it. As usual, he held me down, forcing me to struggle. God, I always felt so weak around him. "Turn around, get on your stomach," he said.

"No, fuck no," I stammered. This time I put everything I had into fighting him off when he tried to flip me over, and even managed to get off the bed. Once again, my hair got me in trouble. He didn't even have to get off the bed to grab it and thusly me, and pull me back up on the bed. I had to climb back up, it hurt so much. "Please, God, don't do this, Seth, don't fucking do this!" I hollered, but he shoved me onto my belly anyway and pressed my face down against the mattress.

"Come on, get that ass up," he barked, and he gave me a sharp, quick spank. I could have died from mortification. I tried to move onto my back, so he pushed me back down the way he wanted and slid his belt off and whipped me with it a few times. He gave me some lashes on my ass and lower back, and each one felt like a cut. "Do what I say, you fuck!" he yelled and he pulled my hips up.

I could hear him unzipping his fly and I tried to get off the bed. He whacked the belt across my back even harder than before and then held both sides of my hips between his hands. "Don't, please don't Seth! I will so tell Mahm!"

At this Seth put a hand around my throat and pulled me up. Into my ear he hissed, "Listen to me, you nasty little faggot. I am going to fucking rape you, understand? You can't stop me, and you're not going to tell anyone, ANYONE!" His hold on my throat was tight and choking. As he said these horrible things to me, I felt him press his dick into me, trying to get it inside. I was trying to close myself up to make it harder for him, but I was really just making it harder on myself. Another crunch on my ear and he said, "First of all, Mahm and Dad know you're a fucking stoner, so it will be your word against mine; who the fuck you think they'll believe? Shit, you are fucking tight!" He laughed at that and I felt his dick just barely inside. He was still gripping my throat as he forced it in. The entire process of getting his prick all the way inside took maybe only two minutes, but of course for me, it was like hours of straight up torture. He could have shoved a knife up my ass and there'd be no difference.

"Please!" I sobbed. I could see my whole world crashing down around my eyes. My brother was raping me. My fucking brother. The whole time I literally wished I were dead.

"And second of all, you douche," he continued as he began to really fuck me. He had slid his hand from my throat to my waist. "You tell anybody, if I hear anything, anything at all, I will fucking kill you." He jerked my head back by the hair and slammed his cock into me with an extra savage thrust. "Got it?"

He'd threaten to kill me all the time, but this time I believed him. I mean, he was saying this while fucking me in the ass; I couldn't put anything past him anymore. I struggled to answer as he kept slamming into me. I was keeping myself up by my hands, but my elbows were starting to buckle. "Why are you doing this?" I forced out.

Seth was by now moaning very softly. I could tell he was trying not to make any sounds, but he did, and they haunt me to this day. "Cuz you're a nasty little fairy, Pickles, and you fucking love it." He gave my hair a quick tug and then drug his fingernails down my bare back. The first moments were utter agony, and then he hit my prostate. It was a lightning bolt of a feeling, making me almost blind. O my God it was intensely good, and I cried out just from the pleasure. He hit it several times in a row, and my arms lost their strength, so there I was, on my face, my hands clutching the sheets, my dick hard as a rock.

"Ya, you like that, don't you?" Seth growled as he fucked me harder. He was still hitting my spot, but by this time he was fucking me so hard and fast it was extremely painful. "You're a total slut, you know that?" he sneered, his voice thick with pleasure and effort. He stopped trying to hide his feelings now, and poured them out in hearty moans and sighs. I was also making quite a bit of noise at this point, as well as crying hard. He even slapped his hand to my cock and squeezed it. "Go on and say it," he hissed. "Tell me!"

"I'm a slut," I sobbed. His hand on my cock only hurt, since he wasn't trying to jack me off. He was just squeezing it and I felt like he'd rip it off.

"A total slut!" he yelled.

"I'm a total slut," I said with a breaking voice.

"Ya, that's right," he said into my ear. "A real fucking slut, godamn faggot slut!" He bucked into me very hard and fast for a few more seconds and then pulled out quickly. Before I could even move, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face to his lap. "Suck it!" he yelled and shoved his cock into my mouth. This all happened so fast I didn't even have the time to resist, so I had his bulging cock halfway down my throat, and then a mouthful of come in my mouth a second later.

He pulled out and leaned back to pant heavily while I gagged and spit up all over my bed. He took a few seconds to catch his breath then hit me hard across the head. "How dare you spit my juice, fucker? I oughtta make you lick it back up."

I just leaned back away from him and curled my legs to my chest, crying. I didn't look at him as he got off my bed and zipped up his fly. When he leaned to my face, I cringed, so he yanked on my hair and hissed, "Next time you better swallow." I could hear him laughing all the way out the door, while I lay down on the bed and cried my eyes out.

***

"Whatchsha thinkin' about, Picklesch?"

I chugged my beer and looked at Murderface. "Nothin'."

***

By now we were all at dinner. I sat with my parents to my side, and Seth next to them. I wasn't sitting right next to him, but just being in the same building was too close for me. His eyes were on me the whole time. And my fucking parents going on and on about him. Jesus, I could barely eat I was so nauseated by their hypocrisy. But I guess it makes sense for them to worship the ground he walked on and then tell me I'm shit, without using those same words. I've never been what they wanted. When I was home I smoked pot, played guitar (now it's the drums, but it's all the same shit to them), never brought my dates home, fucked off in school. It just shows how godamn stupid and closed minded they are to basically accuse me of being a loser and having no goals, even though I'm like a fucking billionaire now. It's because he talks about all these business ventures and career goals that Seth seems like the accomplished one.

It's really all just because he knows how to talk to them. He kisses their asses and pretends to want the same shit out of life as they do, and every grain of resentment or disappointment they have in me he encourages. I won't, and never would, say I agree with them on something if I don't, or feel I have to get their approval for anything. They know that, and they hate me for it. Seth is exactly the person to do that, and that's why they love him. Fuck, it's so simple it's ridiculous.

They don't care he just got out of prison. They don't mind him living with them at his age. And if they had the slightest clue as to how he treated me all those years, they'd only find a way to blame me. Seth had threatened my life if I told on him, but the real reason I kept it to myself was that I knew, I just knew, that Mom and Dad would end up telling me that it was my fault. And Hell, they're so good at that, I'd end up kinda believing it.

When I went to the bathroom, he followed. I gave him an icy look but otherwise didn't try to stop him. I just walked inside with a pounding heart and ready to throw up. As I pissed, I heard him behind me, fucking with the paper towels. I was red in the face from embarrassment even though I made sure to keep my back to him and hide my dick with my hands.

"Good to see you again, after all this time, Pickles," Seth said with an irritating quality to his condescending voice. I heard him rip a paper towel.

"Go to Hell," I said quietly. I pushed the rest out in an effort to get back to the safety of the restaurant and everyone in it, but I could hear he was already behind me.

"What's that?" he said, both hands on the wall, with one arm at the side of my head. Like he were trying to trap me. I got that horrible, helpless feeling that echoed throughout my life ever since Seth first started using his fists on me. The grating of his voice and the heartless look in his flashing eyes was a promise of pain. Just like old times.

I shook off and put it away and turned my head to face him. With my heart clamoring in my chest, I repeated, "Go. To. Hell." With his arm by my head, I knew that if I moved, I'd start the fight. Jesus, there I go talking like my parents. I wouldn't be causing shit, HE would. He just waits for me to leave myself open for attack.

Seth shook his head, laughing. This was one of his favorite things to do, patronize. "After all these years, Pickles. I'd have thought you'd have grown up by now." He drifted his eyes from the floor up to mine with a vaguely lewd expression. The douche bag was exactly the same as the day he first raped me, even though age and prison had affected him. Ya, he was doing something a bit different with his hair, he'd grown a bit of a beer belly, and there was the hint of crow's feet at his eyes, but I could pick out from a fucking crowd that twitch of the left corner of his mouth and that dark glare from beneath those eyebrows.

"Fuck you," I said and flushed the urinal. As soon as my hand left the flusher, he grabbed it and twisted my wrist. I went down, almost landed my head in the urinal, but he pushed me into the wall next to it. What a damn mercy. "Fucking let me go, Seth," I said, but godamn I know I sounded like a pussy. "I swear to Gahd."

"Haven't seen you since you lost your hair," he said and he used that as excuse to tug on one of my dreds. I swear, that like put me in fucking kill-mode. What he just did is seriously a metaphor for our entire relationship. "I liked it better when you weren't bald," he chuckled and planted his thumb on my throat and pressed. When he did this, panic took control and I just stood there like a douche bag, going faint and staring blankly at Seth's cold eyes. I've been free from him for so long, but that choke was like shoving the past down my throat. When I reached for his hand he slapped both of his to my neck and I swear I would have passed out if someone hadn't come in the bathroom right then.

Of course the fucker immediately stepped away from me, while I was struggling to get my vision back. It was all I could do to remain standing, so of course I could only grunt like a dumb ass when I heard a deep voice ask, "Heys, Pickle, yous oks?"

Seth answered, "He's been a bit under the weather for a while. Probably just hung over still." I was amazed at how cool and believable he was. Anybody would have no reason to not believe the fuck. In fact, I knew that Skwisgaar would actually believe that my brother was trying to help me. Now the whole band will think he's awesome.

"Ahh, that's suck, Pickle," Skwisgaar laughed, and then he said hi to the others when they burst in, everyone of them in here to avoid their families. I was wishing by then that I'd stayed at the table, no matter how loud Nature was calling.

"What the fuck!" Nathan exclaimed. "This is bullshit! The thought that they had to have sex in order to create me makes me wish I were buried alive!" Then he saw Seth and said hi to him in a much less pissed voice. Everyone else, besides Toki, who simply stood by the door, staring off into space, complained, too, and I actually kind of felt bad for Murderface. I mean, what the fuck is up with his grandpa?

After a few more minutes of bitching and letting off steam, during which time I pretended to be washing my hands, we left. I had by then latched onto Murderface's shoulder and tried to strike up a conversation with him, just to make it harder for Seth to try anything, like, o say, pull me back inside and keep me in there when everyone else left.

On the way back to the table, Murderface mentioned that one time his grandma tried to starve him for a week because he had broken into the pantry (which supposedly had like five locks on it) in middle of the night, so he trolled the butcher shop down the street for food. The way he said it was like he took that as a part of his life. Like some cause and effect shit, and like even though he'd left that life years ago, his life is still governed by the same principles. I don't know, I guess I was just impressed, in a weird sort of way, by what he was saying. I actually wanted to talk to him for real after he said that, and not just to escape Seth.

I swear it was like we weren't gone half a second, with Mr. Explosion pretty much finishing the same damn sentence he started with Mrs. Skwigelf when I left for the can. Me and Murderface got a kick when the neck of Skwisgaar's guitar bashed into a really short waitress' head. I mean, he just kept it hanging from the strap, all banging away on his chest as he walked, fucking never pays attention anyway. So while me and Murderface laughed (and everyone else tried not to), Skwisgaar was trying to turn the situation to his advantage by offering to "kisses it betters." Murderface nudged me to whisper that Toki looked really pissed and I cracked up when I saw him.

"Is bisexuals, Tokis," I heard him protest, as if that's some kind of an excuse.

The comedy I found made it a lot easier to deal with the fact that the bully to end all bullies was just a few seats from me and sending me disturbing looks whenever he got the chance. He was even talking with Mom and Dad about some awesome new project of his, to the tune of it being a bigger deal than fucking Dethklok. Of course Mom was making damn sure I heard how cool it was. Mother douche bags, all of them. For a minute I was glaring so hard at Seth it took Murderface three tries to snap me out of it.

"Yer brozhersch' a dick," he said through mashed potatoes.

"You have no idea," I said, still eying my family, then I turned to Murderface. "Don't talk with your mouth full, Jesus!" I must have said that too loud, because his toad of a grandma started bitching at him. After telling her to fuck off, he glared at me. I apologized and he seemed to buy it, going back to stuffing his face. I started to drift into another memory then. It was triggered by the smell of pecan pie that a waiter brought Nathan's family.

***

I was in the shower for at least an hour, with my toothbrush with me. I was basically just sitting in the tub, scrubbing and brushing and spitting long after I got the taste of my brother's jizz out of my mouth and the smell of his body off of mine. I didn't want to get out from under the scalding water; I didn't ever, ever want to leave my room.

Eventually, once I starting pruning up real bad, I struggled out of the tub, my body sore as a mother fucker. Even just walking was a challenge, and I just couldn't get those images out of my head. Just to try to make myself feel better, I pulled out my cash box. I'd been saving, as a matter of fact, for a guitar. I particularly had my eye on that Gibson Les Paul at the pawn shop in town. I had dreamed for years of leaving Seth, my parents, and the rest of this shit world behind forever and becoming a rock star. What better a ticket to that life but a fucking electric guitar? At this point I was going to leave as soon as I could afford the guitar and a bus ticket.

I nearly dropped the box when I saw an extra $10 and a note saying, "This is for the awesome time."

I just stared at that letter until I screamed in rage and threw my entire cash box across the room. Seconds later I heard Seth calling me from his room, and I froze. A few ragged breaths later, he called again, this time adding, "Get the fuck in here right now or I'm coming in after you!"

I cussed and could barely breathe I was so scared. My whole body was on fire thinking about being next to him again. But I was smart enough, I guess, to hurry up and obey, like a dog called by its master, or else there'd be Hell to pay. I ran to his room, the whole time barely stopping myself from just running out the front door.

When I got to his door I stopped and looked at him sitting on his bed with a magazine, and I'm sure I looked pretty pathetic, with my shoulders slumped and my face drawn. If I had a tail, you know where it would be. He beckoned me with his finger and one of those smug-ass smiles on his face. He pointed to the floor and I just stared, confused.

"Kneel," he snapped, so I did so, right by his legs where he pointed. As scared as I was, as violently as I hated him, I managed to hold it together by focusing on that guitar I knew I'd get one day, about my life as a rock star, when I'd be too rich to ever have to let anyone hurt me again. But you know, Seth had even managed to taint that by leaving that fucking note, that insulting fucking note that basically called me a whore in my savings box. Now whenever I'd even look at my money, I'd see that damn bill that my own brother gave me for fucking me in the ass.

Ten fucking dollars. Shit, I was a little surprised he'd think I'd be worth even that much.

I waited for him while the bastard flipped through his magazine, totally ignoring me. Well, he was pretending to; I could see him glancing at me, sizing me up. My eyes were sore and I knew I was going to start crying again, but I fought it. Ya, Seth had already seen me cry, many, many times, and now he's seen me taking his dick, but I can't just stop resisting him. I'm that type of person, I guess.

"You probably think I'm just pulling your leg about the whole killing you thing, don't you?" Seth asked, still looking at his mag. I glanced at him real fast and then looked back down. I managed to catch a kind of arrogant satisfaction on his face, and I didn't want to see more. "Don't think I'm serious, eh?"

"I never fucking said that," I said quietly, knowing damn well that this conversation was going to take some time. O, how badly I wanted to just get back up on my feet and be a man in front of him, but I was too scared. I hated myself so much for being such a pussy.

Seth slapped the mag on the bed and leaned down to look at me. I couldn't help flinching when he brought his face to mine, but at least I didn't lean away from him. I forced myself to make eye contact. I could see, from his trembling upper lip, that he was seething. A familiar, expected sight. "You know, you're just the type of toilet scum that would try to cause problems in this family," he sneered.

He'd say things like that a lot, this wasn't anything new. It pissed me off all the same, though, mostly because I knew he got that shit from Mom. He must have thought he was being such a smart, mature guy for passing judgments on the family trouble maker, when he was just repeating everything she'd tell him in his own words. "I'm naht gonna tell on you, Seth," I said through gritted teeth. I felt like adding, "But I will fucking kill you in your sleep." I decided to keep that one back, but I did growl, a bit impulsively, "Disgusting fucker."

His slap pushed me face-down on the floor, where I lingered, hand on my mouth, before slinking back up. I didn't regret saying that to him, but I did avoid his eyes as he talked to me. "You should respect your elders, Pickles," he said in a slightly amused voice. "You gonna apahlogize for that?" he asked in a voice that a normal person might use in a normal conversation.

I trembled for a second with fear and anger. I had a feeling he would do that, pull that parental shit with me. Ever since he turned 18, shit. Well now he was 20, and according to him, more like a second father to me rather than just a brother. "You're telling ME to apahlogize?" I hissed. "After you..." I trailed off, not sure if I wanted to continue.

So Seth finished for me. "After I fucked you?" he said, pride in his voice. He grabbed my hair and forced me to look at him as he sneered, "You worthless little gutter dog. I did you a fucking favor; that was the most love you'll ever get." He shook my head. "Isn't it?"

I squeezed my eyes shut. "No."

His fingers tightened over my scalp for a second and then he laughed, "You're right, faggot. There's gonna be a lot more for you." He reached his other hand to my crotch, pulling on my hair hard when I tried to pull away. I was forced to kneel there and look into his face while he fondled me. His face was very close to mine, his eyes glinting into mine. I could feel his breath and see the bulge in his pants getting bigger. "Mmm ya, my little whore, eh?" he said with a throaty, husky voice in my ear, and the fingers in my hair were clutching so tight.

"No, I'm naht," I whispered, by this time with tears streaming down my face and snot trickling from my nose. "Jesus Christ, Seth, please stop, please..." I didn't have any idea what to do, I felt glued to the spot; he had me by the hair and the nuts. If I moved at all, his hands would tug and squeeze like a vice. The more he rubbed and squeezed, the harder his breathing became, and the harder I got. I cried pitifully, feeling like maybe some of what he was saying was true.

"You're naht, huh?" he said and he pulled me up with his hand between my legs, his fingers pushing through my jeans into my hole, the heel of his hand crushing my balls. Simply from the pain, I scrambled to his lap, where he was leading me, and stretched my legs out on the bed as he wanted. So now I was sitting on his lap, facing him. He stroked my face with both hands while rubbing his crotch against mine. "Why you got a hard on, then?"

I sputtered, "Fucking douche bag, you keep jackin' me..."

"Ya, you just love to feel my hand on your cock, don't ya," Seth sneered with his lips brushing my ear. He was panting now, and very hard. "You're gonna love being my whore, then." He chuckled and suddenly grabbed my throat.

I tried to pry his fingers off, but failed miserably. His tightening fingers took the air out of my windpipe, and brought darkness to my vision. My heart was racing, I desperately needed air, but I couldn't fight him.

"You're trying to distract me, aren't you slut? I was trying to explain to you the importance of keeping your mouth shut when you totally just came onto me." He loosened for half a second just before I would have passed out and then tightened again. His eyes were huge, flickering bulbs before mine, and for these desperate seconds all I knew were those eyes and his iron hands. My entire body was going numb; I couldn't even feel his cock against mine, or smell his musky body covered with the same shit cologne Dad would use sometimes. I really believed that he was finally going to do it, and I remember feeling a vague, empty sadness over not ever getting the chance to touch that Gibson. But I also felt myself slipping into this peaceful kind of world, like I were sliding into death the same way I would into a restful nap. Like I had been waiting for this for a long time, and now I'm finally there.

Seth just kept talking to me, telling me how he'd have no problem dumping my body off at my friend's house, or he could cut it up into tiny pieces and then everyone would just think I ran away and no one would think much of it, and the cops wouldn't bother searching for me. I heard everything he said, and even believed it, but by then I was already in a different world. I didn't give a rat's ass; I was slipping into death, or so I believed.

Just as the shadows around the edges of my vision began to take over, Seth let go in a big, dramatic gesture, and I fell into his chest, gasping and moaning. He had tears and snot thick on his shirt by the time he wrenched me off. As I groped for the support of his shoulders, he shoved me off his bed, a second before I heard a knock on the door.

"What?" Seth asked impatiently.

"Hey, just me," said Mom. "Just letting you know we're back."

"Ok," said Seth in a dull voice.

"Have you seen Pickles?" She sounded annoyed.

"Last I saw he was going out with that one kid," Seth said, all while sneering at me. I was on the floor, barely supporting my head with my arm. I gazed at him and remember feeling so out of it, still. Like I was just watching him, listening to him as if the me he was talking to was actually dead, and I was on my way to the afterlife already.

"O, not Marcus?" Mom asked. She sounded like she already knew the answer, and was slightly disgusted.

"Ya," said Seth eagerly, as if just remembering. "Yep, he left with Marcus just an hour ago."

"Is he," Mom began, hesitant. "Is that Marcus boy queer?"

Seth just laughed. "I...you'd have to ask Pickles."

"I don't like Pickles associating with that boy," Mom said, and she went on with more of her typical statements. Neither her nor Seth saw anything weird about carrying on a conversation with a closed door between them. Just another example of the hierarchy at home: Mom would find no problem busting into my room with barely a knock.

When she finally left, Seth got up and stood over me. I was pretty much content with just passing out, feeling dead for a few hours, but he kicked me in the gut and crouched to say, "See? Go ahead and tell on me, Pickles. You'll have everyone laughing at you, and then you'll die." He lifted my head by the hair so he could see my eyes. I gave him a weary, but baleful stare. "You should be thanking me," he chuckled. "Nobody else gives a shit about you, but you get to be something special with me." he looked very happy with himself and then, as I expected, asked, "And why's that, Pickles?"

"Go fuck yourself," I whispered.

Instead of blowing up in my face or pretending to be amused, Seth just looked at me for a long time, with only a slight narrowing of his eyes betraying anything. I kept my eyes locked onto his, and imagined that my uncaring attitude disturbed him. "You'll wish I let you die today," he said, and then dropped my head on the floor and left.

I gotta admit, that for a long time after that day, I did. I honestly did.

***

The day was barely chugging away and already tensions were high with everyone. Snide comments, underhanded insults, all kinds of bullshit from both sides. Not that I feel bad for the other side of course. Fucking weirdos, all of them. Seriously, what in fuck is up with Toki's parents? Christ.

After the meal we all just kinda split off into our own little groups. The only one I felt bad for was Murderface, having to spend time with a half dead dude and that fucking nasty grandma. Fuck, she's a beast. I'd rather fuck Mustakrakish than spend five minutes with her.

Me and my family went shopping at the mall. Fucking lame, but I certainly wasn't making any suggestions. I was just waiting till the day would end and I'd be free. Seth was a different kind of cruel depending on who was around. When we were in Sharper Image, Mom waddled into the Hallmark store next door, leaving us with Dad. My father and brother impressed each other with their understanding of all the crap and bullshit they groped from the shelves, while I just tagged along.

Dad took this opportunity to chide me for not working on computer certifications, like Seth. I was expected to be impressed that he'd passed the A+ exam, and then to be supportive for his efforts in passing the next ones. It just didn't occur to Dad that maybe I was kinda set the way I was. Like, what the fuck do I even need to know about turning a fucking computer on at this point? But no, Seth's gonna be all certified, he's gonna work at a help desk. Be a godamn Bill Gates, for all 'a Dad's praise.

"I could give you a crash course, Pickles," he said as we were leaving the store. His tone of voice was helpful and natural, but of course the sadistic gleam to his eyes was for my eyes only. "Get you certified. All for free, of course, cuz you know I'd do that for you, bro." With that he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. I wanted to beat him to death just for touching me. Anyone should have been able to see how uncomfortable I was in my brother's embrace, but as usual, Dad was oblivious. He was impressed by my brother's generosity and adamant that I take advantage, and be grateful about it too. When Mom found us, the scene unfolded with just the amount of pain Seth had planned on in the first place; Mom asking what we were talking about, Dad filling her in, her saying her bullshit, her ridicule and orders, Dad supporting her with some asinine comment, Seth just keeping smug and quiet, basking in all the approval, but most of all, getting off on what this was doing to me.

I suggested going to see a movie when things started to get just too fucking much. Seth was stroking my shoulder, acting all nice and brotherly for Mom and Dad, but his touch was as sharp as a knife to me, and made me think of so many terrible things at once. When they weren't looking, Seth even turned to face me and pulled me closer to his chest. His head was touching mine, and I felt that breath, like so many fucking times when I was a kid, washing over my neck. "Having fun?" he hissed.

So I shoved him off and started walking towards the theater, making it out to be a great idea. They somewhat bought it, so in we went. I hung back behind the others, hoping that maybe I could sit with someone between me and Seth, but Mom and Dad went ahead and took their fucking seats before I could figure out a way to not sit next to Seth and not be suspicious as Hell. Seth went ahead and sat next to Mom, and then patted the seat near him, giving me a lustful look. I couldn't help but shudder when I sat down next to him; it was like lowering myself into a dark, cold abyss.

Barely a second after I sat down, Mom and Dad were chatting and Seth slid his hand beneath the arm rest and grabbed my thigh. He looked at me as if to say, "What? What are you gonna do?" as he pressed his fingers into my leg. Then, with the previews rolling, he slid his hand to my crotch, and he just kept reaching for it as subtly as he could as I tried to move away without making it obvious. Finally, Seth lost patience and wrapped his fingers over the curve of my thigh and pulled me closer to him. His grip and his whisper of, "Don't piss me off, Pickles, I'm warning you," encouraged me to sit still. I was thankful that at least it was too dark for anyone to see anything.

There he was again, rubbing at my crotch, watching me suffer without even turning his head. His hand teasing my cock felt the same then as it always has: rough, unpredictable, divine. The familiar shame that I'd thought I'd finally broken free from enveloped me like arms as arousal crept through my body. I tried shoving his hand off, but he grabbed my fingers and started crushing them. Since he took my hand at such an odd angle, he didn't have to squish them too much for it to really hurt. I had to pull my hand back if I didn't want to holler in the middle of the theater.

"Mother fucker, stop it!" I hissed to Seth. He pinched my cock, and I lurched forward with the shocking pain. He just squeezing harder and harder until I said, as quietly as I could, "Ok, ok!"

"Gonna be quiet now?"

I took the pain for a few seconds more and then finally said, "Yes!" through my teeth. Seth gave me some more pain before slowly loosening his grip. He then went right back to fondling me. Even while the movie started, I had my brother's fingers prodding, stroking, molesting my dick over the fabric of my pants, and I couldn't do anything about it! I thought about going to the bathroom, but that would be promising myself some real Hell. I wouldn't have my buddies unwittingly saving me like last time.

I started to think about that one Saturday, a few months after the first rape, the one where Seth found something new to do with me.

***

I had spent that evening with Marcus and some other friends. We were jamming, or trying to, with his uptight parents right above us. Let's just say we weren't gonna be going to 11 that night. Shit, we were practically playing acoustic.

I'd already asked his mom if I could stay the night and she said yes. I hadn't bothered to ask my Mom, because I'd stayed out all night before and if she'd try to say anything about it, I'd just walk away. But tonight, in the middle of my solo that I'd been working on for like a week, none other than Seth walks up into the garage. I saw him and almost fumbled, but I did my best to ignore him and keep playing. I remember having this sad kind of hope that maybe I would play so well that Seth would actually be impressed.

He stood for a minute and then pulled the plug on my amp. Everyone else stopped, and I was furious, but I kept plucking away, as if in a trance. I just wanted to do anything I could to defy him. He had figured that, I'm sure, so he walked up to me and said, "It's time to go home, Pickles." I didn't stop playing even when he said it again. The third time, he tugged me into the driveway by my hair, and further humiliated me by trying to lead me all the way down the street like that, forcing me to make a douche out of myself by struggling against him, the guitar swinging wildly at my side and the cord scraping along the pavement.

"Pickles' gonna keep your guitar for tonight, alright?" Seth yelled back to Marcus, who shouted out weakly, "Ok." Then to me, he snarled, "You come when I say, you little fucker." He gave my hair another vicious jerk before finally letting go. I walked slightly behind him with my head lowered from the embarrassment and depression his presence gave me. A few moments of blissful silence, and then he said, "You look really pretty tonight." He chuckled and looked back at me, while I gritted my teeth and refused to look at him. I felt my face burn under his hard gaze. "You get all dolled up for Marcus, huh? Does he like your pretty lip stick?"

"It's not fucking lip stick," I grumbled, but then decided it would be pointless to tell him it was, in fact, lip gloss. Different fucking thing. But God how I hated him right then, just for being there to fuck up what could have been a great night. I had done a lot of work and made up several awesome new riffs. The entire practice had gone great. I really felt awesome, like my dreams were just around the corner. Like I was free from all the bullshit of my life. And then he had to invade my one happiness. I'd thought I'd finally found something even he couldn't touch, but here he was.

Well, I've always know, even during those bleak moments walking back to my so-called home alongside the bane of my existence, that my music was always safe in my head. Seth could drag me away from practice, he could break Marcus' guitar, whatever, but he'd never have the power to fuck with what I had inside my head.

I comforted myself with these thoughts as we got home. Seth shoved me inside and immediately Mom was on me like, and forgive the cliche, stink on shit. "Where'd you get that guitar?"

"I borrowed it from Marcus," I sighed and made like I was going to my room.

"You were with Marcus again tonight?"

Mentally, I face-palmed. How stupid was I to forget she didn't like me hanging out with him because she's an overprotective bitch. I mean, he was my best friend, and just because he and I got caught shoplifting that one time doesn't fucking mean he's a bad influence. Hey, but tell that to her.

"I just borrowed his guitar, Gahd!" I said, and I had to just stand there and wait for her to think about this. It's not like she was all that controlling or anything, just stupid. She was always so fucking paranoid about me I swear you'd be better off dealing with the DMV.

"Does his mother know you have that?" she asked with pursed lips.

"Jesus Christ, Mahm!" I shouted, and I gave up. What a bitch. She tried calling after me, but ever since the bullshit with Seth, I figured I shouldn't have to obey more than one person at a time.

"Then I suppose you won't be joining us for dinner," I vaguely heard her announce, mostly to herself. Like I'd care! With any luck dinner would mean at least a half an hour to myself.

I ended up with five minutes. Just after I reached my room, I heard yelling downstairs. Seth's voice pitched in a few times, always angry, but mostly it was Dad. I just shut the door and played, drowning the sounds out. Soon enough, Seth once again interrupted my precious practice time by coming into my room without knocking (not like that was in any way a surprise anymore. I've been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night plenty.) and sauntering to my bed. I felt him sit next to me and I said, while still trying to play, "Seth, please, let me have some time to myself, please, just a little bit?" I bristled at the feel of his hand slow through my hair.

"You can wait till I'm done," he said, and he bit my ear. I tried to ignore it at first, but he just kept biting down harder and harder until I couldn't take it anymore.

"Jesus, Gahd!" I yelled, but he wouldn't let go until I put the guitar down and let him push me onto my back. My face was frozen in a grimace; he'd bitten me hard enough to draw blood. When I was flat on my back, wrists held down above my head with one hand, Seth took his mouth off my ear and brushed it all the way down my face to the neck, where he kissed gently. I had been working very hard to take myself somewhere else (specifically that night I was on a stage, playing lead at a Battle of the Bands, with Marcus on vocals. Specifics are key.) but I was brought back to Earth by the incredible feeling of his kiss. I was breathing heavily through gritted teeth as he licked from the collarbone all the way to the earlobe, and then planted a delicate kiss on my throat.

Good Christ he felt so good right then, so good that I caught myself pressing against his fondling hand. When I did, I stopped and made my body into a tense, stiff board. I couldn't help getting hard. I was almost 16, for Christ's sake, of course I'm gonna get hard if someone's fucking jacking me off. That didn't stop him from making me feel filthy about it, though.

Just to go off topic for a second, I have to admit that there was one time when I was yanking it in my room, and I thought about Seth. As I got closer, I clung to the imagery of Seth fucking me from behind, pulling my head back by the hair to his face, with his lips scratching my cheek, his hand jacking me off in his usual rough and pinching way. I had an orgasm with the help of a fantasy about my brother. It was only that one time. Whenever I'd start to think about him while masturbating, I'd furiously try to think of something else. The memories of everything he's done to me over the years are haunting, yes, and painful. But as disgusting as this is, to this day I sometimes get hard when I think about it.

So, yes, I was struggling to resist what he was forcing me to feel. I knew I was far from coming, but I wished dearly I could just stay soft. I would have given anything to burn him like that; God, imagine how pissed he'd be. He could tell what I was doing, so he switched from humiliating me with pleasure to his old favorite: pain. He dove his hand in my pants and poked his finger at the hole at the tip. I lurched up, but he held my chest down. My eyes were locked into his, watching his face set into a dark, intense glare. He wasn't smirking, or making of an expression at all as he forced a part of his fingernail inside, with the other fingers wrapped around my cock, as if holding it ransom. I knew that if I really tried to bolt, he'd still have his hand tight on my fucking cock. I had no choice but to find a way to endure this new form of torture.

I actually even thought of screaming so loud Mom and Dad would have to come and check it out, but could you imagine how horrible that would be? Just imagining my parents seeing me like this, God, it still creeps me out. Not to mention I'm sure Seth would consider that tattling and fucking kill me.

It was getting really hard to stay quiet, though, and he could tell, so he took his hand off my wrists and clamped it to my mouth. My now free hands clutched at his arm, not to try to pry it off, but as some kind of support, I guess. I dug my fingernails into his arm as hard as I dared and watched the glimmer in his eyes increase whenever I gave him an especially desperate, muffled yell.

I don't know how far he got his finger in there, but let me tell you, it was a nightmare to piss for almost a week afterwards. I was crying already, barely two minutes since he got here and already I'm all pussed out. Even taking a dick up the ass feels more natural than what he was doing to me. I really believed that he was going to permanently damage me, but I know now that he wouldn't have wanted that. I was literally at his mercy for every one of his games, but I'm not disfigured simply because that's not how he wants me.

I sat up and brought my knees to my chest when he finished, and I watched him get up from the bed and light up a cigarette in front of me. Flicking his tongue to the butt, he watched me in return as he smoked it for a moment.

"How long are you going to be tonight?" I asked sullenly. My dick was sore already. I just wanted to play my fucking guitar, that's it. The tension of having him in my room like this, being forced to wait for his next move, was just too much.

Leaning over me, he blew the smoke in my face and then grabbed my arm. I tried to pull it away, since I already knew what the dick was going to do, but I couldn't avoid a nice little burn in my arm. "Longer, just because you said that," he said, then laughed.

Licking the burn, I growled, "Why aren't you at dinner?"

"Not hungry," he said and ashed on my bed. He was still standing over me. I kept my head down and stared at the burn, feeling his presence like a storm cloud.

I smirked for a second, considering whether or not I should say aloud what came to my mind, and then finally decided, after watching some ash land on Marcus' guitar, to go ahead. "Dad yelled at you again, didn't he?"

I was expecting the smack on the head, so it wasn't so bad. I heard him take a very violent puff of his cigarette. I sure as Hell smoked tobacco back then too, but I remember wondering how he could stand smoking it so hard.

"Bet it was about how you got fired, eh?" I went on. I knew I'd pay for that later, but I just had to enjoy myself, just a little bit. Carpe fucking diem. "Did you tell her the part about you wailin' on that customer?"

"Diggin' yer own grave, douche bag," was all he said as he finished his smoke. Just the way that he said that, so coldly, and without giving me the satisfaction of blowing up at what I said, made me shrink. It suddenly wasn't so funny anymore.

He put his cigarette out on the end board of my bed and pulled me by the arm. I struggled to keep up with him as he led me out. He let go of my arm when we passed the kitchen and said, "We're gonna go try to fix up that old bike, Mahm." She paused, then told us not to be out all night and Seth resumed dragging me outside.

We went far from the house, way back into the woods. Even if Dad took it in his head to want to come out and play the mechanic with his sons, he'd never find us. It was already getting pretty cold out, being close to autumn, and of course it was much worse when he stripped me. He held me up to a thin tree, and I watched him take some cord from his pocket. He looked so detached, so business like even as he tied my hands behind the tree and slipped another piece of cord around my neck and the tree. I was panting already, and the empty look in his face as he groped and stared at my cock for almost an entire minute gave me a sick kind of fear.

I couldn't help but ask, "Are you gonna kill me, Seth?"

The grin he cracked in response was actually a relief. Good old Seth the child molester was back. It's just that this was so disturbingly strange. This sounds horrible, but I was used to getting fucked in either his or my room, and sometimes in his shower for a change of scenery. This was also the first time he had tied me up. He'd often enough hold my wrists together or pin me down, but nothing as ritualistic as this. There was a cord tight around my throat, connecting me to the tree, as if the binds at my wrists weren't enough. I had some loose hairs caught that would snag if I moved my head even slightly.

"Seth!" I whispered while he lit up another cigarette and gazed at me and the woods with equal contempt. I called his name again. My teeth were chattering by now, with that Northern wind chilling my bones. "Please, it's so cold!"

Something glinted in his eyes as he walked up to me and ran his fingers through my hair. I could feel the heat from his lips on mine, and my skin trembled at the brushing of his shirt. For a tense few seconds, he stared into my eyes, a finger holding up my chin, then he sneered, "Aww, poor baby!" His fingers and the cord around my neck kept my head still as the tip of his cigarette burned into my chest. "Don't be too loud!" he cooed, taking another hit. I had to bite my lower lip to keep from screaming. Again, smoke in my face. "You don't want anyone to see ya like this, now do ya?" He brought he cigarette to my face threateningly. He laughed aloud at my fear and said, "Just fucking with you, Pickles." He drug a finger down my cheek. "Wouldn't want to mark up that pretty face of yers." He put the cigarette to my mouth and said, "Here." I was glad for the smoke, although a little surprised he'd give that to me. Taking it from my mouth, he suddenly turned savage. "This is for the crack about my job," he snarled, and pressed the tiny flame into my nipple. I screamed so loud he slapped a hand to my mouth and kept that fucking cherry to my skin. Snot was dripping onto his hand, and even as I thrashed and twisted as much as I could, he just moved with me to keep it on there.

He kept his hand to my mouth when he finally threw the cigarette away and warned me to be quiet. When I nodded, he let go. As soon as his hand left my mouth, though, his put his own on it. I moaned into his open mouth and felt his tongue snake along my teeth. For the next few minutes my brother pretty much made love to me. While his mouth dominated mine, my entire body was at the disposal of his probing, demeaning fingers. Shoving a few fingers deep up my ass, he muffled my yells with his mouth.

He took some of my drool with him when he pulled his face away. "Don't pretend you didn't like that, you whore," he snarled viciously, and looked at me like he was seconds away from tearing the skin off my body. Hell, I even gave out a small yell of panic when he put his hand on my head.

Even with that dread in the back of my mind, I still goaded him. "I never like it, douche bag!" His glare was dangerous, but I just had to add, "I hate it when you touch me, and I hate you!"

"I don't give a flying fuck if you like it or not," he sneered, shoving his fingers in my mouth. I took them in, but I didn't lick or suck them like he would have wanted, so he just gouged them down my throat and yanked them out, laughing, when I almost puked. Good God, I remember wishing I would have ralphed all over him, just to see his face. He'd no doubt slap the shit out of me, but I would have loved to see him freak out with my puke all over his shirt.

But there were other thoughts that drove me half insane as I felt his hands slide across my neck to undo the ties, with the familiar tingles that came from his scratching fingernails. He made out with me again, this time slowly, and his pressed his body against mine. I had wanted dearly, since this whole thing started, to just get away from him and get back to my guitar, but I really think that had my hands not been tied tight behind my back, I just might have pushed them through Seth's hair. And while I moaned at the dread of the possibility of a painful fucking, I could feel how hard I was as Seth's crotch ground into mine. With tears in my eyes and a sick excitement haunting me, I returned his kiss.

He let my head free and then pushed it down level with his crotch. Only the binds on my wrists kept me standing at all, with my body bent over double like that. He flipped his dick out in a hurry and shoved it into my mouth. I'll admit that I did, somewhat, enjoy that kiss, but it was still an ordeal to endure yet another blow job. I was just too tired and anxious to get back home to try to resist him. I kept my mouth slack just let him do his thing. Normally he would force me, by means of pulling my hair or pressing his finger into that sensitive spot right by the earlobe, to actually give him decent head, not just sit there passively with my mouth open. But judging by how focused he was, he didn't care this time. In a few minutes he sprayed into my face and then wiped up his cock and my face with a hankie from his pocket.

I was barely walking as he led back into the house. Thankfully Mom and Dad were in their room by the time we got in, so we made it to his room without incident. I just stayed in a sort of exhausted stupor all while being led to his bathroom.

"Kneel right there," he said as he got undressed. I obeyed and stared at the tiles. He had put my clothes back on in the forest in a careless hurry; my shirt had snagged at the burns in my chest horribly, and it still felt like bits of material were stuck inside. But I didn't think to touch or inspect my body while I waited for him to finish showering. After all, they were just more injuries, add 'em to the list and just hope he doesn't burn the same spots tomorrow. I had a little chuckle when I realized that I probably wouldn't be able to get my nipples pierced now.

The shower curtain was opaque, but it showed his silhouette. I looked at his body for a bit longer than I should have, but at that point I really didn't care. I was so fucking tired, my practice got ruined, and there was so much on my body that hurt it didn't even matter what anymore, so I figured I could let myself indulge, just this once.

He really did have a killer body back then. Thin, curved in just the right places. He was certainly a lot more toned than I was, I mean I was just a skinny bastard, but he really looked like he could hurt you. Just watching the steam float around his body, and his arms moving gracefully as he washed himself made me visualize that familiar sight of him above me, toned arms at the sides of my head.

I looked away from him and tried focusing on what I'd played that night when I felt the urge to stroke myself. I was well aware that I could have easily climaxed by just watching Seth in the shower while touching myself, and what a disaster that would have been.

He turned the water off. I held still and stopped breathing. I had felt almost calm resting by the shower, but somehow I felt ready to panic when he ripped the curtain open. He was standing there for a few seconds, waiting for me to look up at him and take some falling water drops to the face.

"Bring me the towel," he said, and watched me do it. I went back to my knees as he dried his hair, eager to avoid any confrontation. Not like I could ever control that, anyway. "You're gonna help me get dry," he said and he put his leg out over the shower rim, but didn't step out. With his foot right next to my face, I felt my stomach fall, knowing exactly what the prick had in mind. "Go on, lick the water off," he snapped. I just looked at him, cringing slightly. "Gahd, I just took a fucking shower, I'm not dirty!" he said. "Do it!" His stare was menacing.

"Gahd, Jesus," I muttered as tears popped from my eyes. When I leaned in, he forced his foot to my mouth, laughing as I struggled with it. I had my eyes closed tight and my fists shaking at my sides as I drug my tongue along the skin. He brushed his toes along my bottom lip and then wiped the top of his foot along my cheek. My face was now wet.

"There ya go," he said as he stepped out of the shower. "I didn't say stop, dammit!"

While he dried off his upper body I was on my knees licking his feet and ankles. With an amused grunt he pushed my face down to the floor with one foot and then kicked me away so he could finish drying off properly.

I sat in a ball by his feet for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the faucet, of spurting hair gel, of drawers sliding. Then I heard him say, "Get out of here."

I left his room slowly, like a whipped dog, and trudged back to my own bed. I didn't even bother shaking the cigarette ash off Marcus' guitar when I picked it up, and I was too tired, too out of it to play anything. But I lay down with it in my arms. I just wanted to feel it against my chest, the heavily polished wood pressing into healthy and burned skin alike, while I drifted off.

***

In just a few minutes I went through all these details, still fresh and vivid in my mind, but in that time, with Seth's hand controlling my cock, my helplessness naked in front of his piercing eyes, I had lost control. During those few, nightmarish seconds while I came, Seth's hand gripped much tighter, and I could hear his breathing grow ragged and quick. Neither of us made any sounds loud enough for anyone else to hear, but I felt the noises echo inside my head. He did me the courtesy of wiping my come into the side of the seat, and even cleaned it off my cock for me. Now, when we'd leave the theater as a family, only the look on my face could give us away.

***

The day I finally left was a rebirth. I'm still amazed at how quickly and effortlessly I threw off the old skin and put on the new. That very morning I was the universally hated kid, abused by one family member and ignored by the rest, but that night I was the mysterious, lone musician that all those other abused kids out there wished they could be.

The previous night I was forced to sleep on the floor next to Seth's bed before he finally dragged me into his bed to fuck me, but that was ok because he was still asleep in the morning when I left with my money and a bag of basic supplies. Man, I remember how I hung back for just a minute before leaving his room for the very last time. I just watched him sleep, thinking about how he had let me sleep up in the bed with him when he was done, as if he knew I'd be leaving and that was his way of saying goodbye. I mean, he'd known I was planning on hitting the road for a while, but he kept that to himself. He was still the same evil prick, but at least he didn't tell Mom and Dad. And no, I knew I wasn't going to fucking miss him, and I didn't feel sorry for him or any of that shit. I still don't really know why I felt the need to kiss his open mouth really fast before I left, but I guess I really felt like it, so I did.

Except for one night when he found me at a concert in Minneapolis, I've been free from him. I started a new life, the life I've always dreamed of, and I never looked back.

Until mother fucking today.

"How'd you like the movie?" Seth asked me as we walked out of the theater. I had to answer because the douche bag asked loud enough for Mom and Dad to hear, and only a fucking psycho would blatantly ignore a simple question, like I wished I could do.

"Ya, it was alright," I said, in the fakest tone I've ever spoken and quickly turned my face forward so they couldn't see the horrendous look on my face.

We met up with everyone else after twenty more grueling minutes and headed for a miniature golf course in a huge van Ofdensen had rented for us. I kept Murderface back while everyone loaded in, and persuaded him to ignore his grandma when the bitch kept screaming at him to sit next to her.

"Whatcsh up, man?" he asked, having no problem at all with blowing that bitch off to talk to me. Thank God for that crazy bastard; if I wanted him to pretend to talk to me for three days straight, by Christ I think he'd do it.

Instead of talking though, I just sighed a lot and scratched my head, all the while watching for everyone to get in the van. When it was safe, I leaned to whisper, "I don't feel comfortable around my family."

Murderface just nodded and said in his usual wise-man schtick, "Yesch, your brozther isch evil."

I shook that odd comment off and we sat next to each other up front. Soon enough I had to give up my human shield, and was once again prey waiting to be torn apart. We played together for a bit, then Mom and Dad wandered off on their own. Even out in a well lit, public place, I still felt in danger with Seth around. I was especially vulnerable now that he had a chance to talk to me, with no one close enough to hear him.

So there I was, having had no chance at all to try to deal with what happened in the theater. As soon as I had felt myself empty into his hand, because of his painful, forceful hand, I wished with all my fucking heart that I would immediately drop dead.

Jesus, just to have the luxury of being by myself for just five minutes! I couldn't do something as simple as beat the shit out of a bathroom stall wall and have a good cry to ease the tension. I suppose I could have taken Murderface into a bathroom with me to stay safe, but I still wouldn't have the privacy I needed. I didn't really want to tell anybody about this, even though if I could tell anyone, he would be the only other fag in the band who could possibly understand what this is like.

Seth leaned down while I stooped for a swing to say, "You haven't changed a bit, Pickles, except for that ridiculous skullet." He laughed and I hit the ball a bit hard. I distinctly heard someone yelling out about his leg.

"Neither have you," I said and we walked to the next idiotic hole. "Still the same evil piece of shit you've always been." I gave the club to him when he reached for it. "Still living off Mahm and Dad, probably still alone, aren't you?" It was very ballsy of me to be saying these things to him, but I felt safe enough outside, so I went for it. It really was all I could do to keep control of myself and not beat him with the golf club. I could tell that he was on the verge of doing something, too. I leaned in to sneer into his face, "But you never did have anyone, always alone and only fucking me because no one else would ever give you the time of fucking day, eh?"

His knuckles went white on the club and he took a second to seethe. "As soon as I get the chance, you fucking..." he began in a tight whisper.

"You'll what?" I said. "You'll fuck me up, you'll rape me, what? Not like it hasn't all been done before! Bring it on, asshole!" His face reddened as I snarled into his ear, and then he flashed bright, fierce eyes to stare into mine. The look on his face terrified me, and made me feel exactly as if I were once again beneath him on his bed, but I hid my fear and snapped, "You can't kill me yet, I haven't told on you." Then I spat on his face. Just a light, quick spray, more like a sharp exhale, but he had to close his eyes and jerk his head away just the same.

My heart was beating so hard from this, I had to shove a codeine in my mouth just to calm the fuck down. I really did feel like I had just sealed a morbid fate for myself, and I had to tell myself over and over again that I didn't have to worry, that he couldn't hurt me anymore. It was just so fucking hard to believe it.

For a moment we just stood there, our eyes locked. He had so much hatred on his face, so much anger in his trembling lips, but I could see a touch of something else in his eyes. Sadness, maybe, if his monster heart could be capable of such a human emotion. I, for one, was riding high on a wave of triumph. It was a shallow, temporary victory, I know, but I let myself enjoy it, as well as that priceless look of defeat on Seth's face.

But this only lasted for a minute at the most, because suddenly Seth flung the club to the side and grabbed me by the shirt and screamed, "Fucker!" into my face. In a second Skwisgaar was there to pull him off me, and a few of the others, that were near enough, were staring. I thanked fucking God Mom and Dad weren't around; I was embarrassed enough.

I let Seth try to calm down a bit and then told Skwisgaar it was ok, that we just had a little argument. "Thanks, man," I said to him as he went back to his mom, who had taken the opportunity of her son's absence to flirt with an employee half her age. Breathing a bit heavily, I turned to Seth and said, "The fuck you doin', Seth? Gonna get yourself in trouble if you're naht careful."

"Just you fucking wait, Pickles," he hissed, walking up to me. I could tell that he was putting everything into not losing control again, but he did get intimidatingly close to my face and poked a finger into my chest. "I'll get you alone again, and you won't be so fucking tough then." He sneered. "Look at you, acting all brave when we're outside. If we were alone right now, you'd be at my feet, shaking and crying like a little baby."

"Fuck you," I growled, although my voice cracked. I didn't back up or cringe when he touched me and snarled in my face, but I'm sure he could easily tell how scared I was.

"And trust me, Pickles, I will have you alone again, no matter how long I gotta wait. I'll find you like I did last time." He brought his hand up to my face and crunched it into a fist right by my eyes. "You think you're a fucking big shot, all rich and famous and shit. You think you got somethin' on me, think you're fucking better than me now. But you will always be the same filthy, faggot slut you always were."

Shaking, I growled through gritted teeth, "I never was, you fucker, you did that to me."

I flinched when he made like he was going to hit me. He chuckled at that. "You proved that to me when you came in my fucking hand. You're still the same whore you always were. You'll always be my whore, won't you, Pickles?"

His words had taken me back in time, and there I was, standing all small and weak in front of him, letting him turn me into what he wanted me to be. I stared hard into his eyes and felt some tears trickle down my face. I wiped them away furiously and said, "You're gonna die alone." I pushed past him as I walked away.

***

That time in Minneapolis had haunted me as a dream, as a nightmare sometimes. It was long ago, but some nights I'd wake up in a sweat and look beside me, expecting him in my bed.

Snakes 'n Barrels by that time was really getting up there in fame. We had music videos, our songs were on the radio, we were in magazines. I hadn't called or written home since I left, but I figured I didn't have to. Mom and Dad'd see for themselves that I was doing just fine.

Our concert at Minneapolis went fucking great, as I expected. I hung back after the show because our manager had told me in the dressing room right before the last set that there was a chick who wanted to see me. When I laughed and told him that every fucking chick wanted to see me, he convinced me that this one in particular had something very important to tell me, that it had something to do with my family. I was scared that maybe someone got sick or something, so I agreed. He told me to meet this girl by a particular spot in the parking lot. I remember trying my best to keep my anxiety hidden while I performed. I think, looking back, that I did ok.

So after the show, the rest of the band went off to their parties and I went to the spot, careful to hide myself with a big coat. I waited for like forever and then finally I heard footsteps behind me. Before I had the chance to turn around, though, I had been knocked out with ether on a rag. Or, at least, my assailant had tried to knock me out, but this is me we're talking about. I mean, I fucking inhale the shit to relax, so even as sopping wet at this rag was, it wasn't taking me down.

So the guy slammed my head against the lamp post instead.

I woke up in a dingy motel room with the worst headache and the stench of ether in my nose. It seemed like barely a second ago that I was attacked, so I jumped off the bed, all geared up to try to fight or escape. The lights turned on and I turned. My mouth just hung open as I stared at Seth standing by the door, a small, smug smile on his lips.

"What, what the fuck?" I stammered, although it seemed very hard to talk from the shock.

I scrambled up towards the headboard of the bed as he approached me and sat down. He got on his hands and knees and crawled to me, ending up with his hands anchored by my shoulders. I was on my back, with my head on the board, my face barely an inch from his. "I've missed you, bro," he said and then took my lips into a savage kiss. I grunted into his mouth and began to struggle, but he thrust my arms down hard and bit my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Shit!" I shouted when he took his mouth off. He reached to the bedside table lo yank the phone cord out of the wall and then grabbed my hair with both hands. He was panting, and he stared down at me with a wolfish grin and blazing eyes. His cock was hard and demanding beneath his jeans, and he ground it into mine.

"Just relax," he said in a dark and husky voice. "We're gonna have us a good time." I had never seen so much lust in my brother's eyes, and I had seen more than enough in our time. I'd been gone for over a year, but Seth's rough hands and hot breath took me right back to those days when I was his toy. My own cock was screaming, and I couldn't help but rub in against him and lean my head back and pant throatily as my brother kissed up and down my neck.

I was wildly aroused, and I hated myself for it, but at the very least I was in control enough to try to fight him off, after a few minutes of indulgence. I had managed to thrust myself through his arms and fall off the bed, but he pulled me by the back of my shirt and fell onto me. He had me pinned on the floor, my face crammed into the carpet, with a slight struggle. I felt his erection rubbing against my ass and his fingers slide up my scalp before grabbing a clump of hair. He pulled my head up to his face and said, "Just like old times, eh?" I bucked against him and he slammed my head down a few times. There was a carpet, but he had hit me almost hard enough to pass out. I screamed and my body crumpled beneath him. "Gonna be a good boy now?" he asked. When I didn't answer, he pressed his thumb into that spot behind the earlobe, with his other hand still holding my hair, until I begged, "Yes, yes, I'll be good, please stop!"

"Good," he snarled as he let go. "Just enjoy yourself, my little whore. I know you missed this."

The weight of his body on my back, his breath on my neck, his forceful fingers tugging at my clothes, wet, warm lips brushing, teeth snagging, tearing; this was all like some savage dream I couldn't escape or ever forget. At this point I was way past the shock of seeing him again, just out of the fucking blue; I was deep, deep in that mental state I thought I'd never again experience. I really can't explain it, just this feeling of being completely overwhelmed, of being taken into Seth's control as if he were eating me alive in one gulp.

"Gahd, please, stop!" I yelled when he bit down on my neck. I knew it was useless, he'd do whatever he damn well pleased, no matter how desperate or pitiful I might sound, but I couldn't help but try anyway. Maybe it was the year I spent around people who actually gave a shit that made me so naive. He held on a few seconds more while I writhed beneath him, whining from the pain I wasn't used to anymore.

Finally he let go and licked my ear. God, I shivered when he did this. His throaty whisper echoed, "Let's get a shower."

"O...ok," I breathed, and he practically carried me to the bathroom. I stood and watched him slowly undress, hypnotized, as if all this time I had been dreaming about him, and now here he was, naked and approaching me with lust in his eyes. I stood still, trembling slightly as he pulled the shirt over my head and gazed at my. "Look at you," he said. "Take those off." I took off the rest of my clothes, and felt like I were some kind of freak as he stared me down. I couldn't look at his face while I waited, my arms draped around my chest. For a second I almost gave in and covered my cock with my hand, since the fucker was hard as Hell, but I figured it would be more embarrassing to have Seth slap my hand away.

His body was just as buff as that very last day I spent in his bed, only now it seemed more weary, skinnier. I brutally cursed myself for coming up with the retarded idea that my absence had taken a toll on him. In any case, call me a 98 pound weakling, but it was intimidating to have his stronger body come up to mine and grab me. I flinched and tensed, trying to prepare myself for God knows what. I looked down at his hand resting on my hip and listened to him compliment my body. It was very, well, weird to hear him say such things about me, or at least how I looked. He kept saying how beautiful I was, still was. It felt kinda good, and for about half a second, I even felt a little, well, safe. Like maybe it was ok to feel complimented by his words.

Then he grabbed me, and I turned my face, which was screwing up from the sharp, pinching grip he had on my cock, to the side of the wet wall as he said with his upper lip curling back, "You know, this just proves that no matter where you are, no matter how long it's been, you'll always be a slut for me."

Water from the shower trickled off his face and into my mouth, steam hung like a cloud around us, and for a second I saw it as a barrier that we were both safe behind. I won't lie, when he stopped hurting me and started stroking, it felt good. He felt good, and the feel of his skin and tongue and hair on me felt familiar, and yet as if only a vague memory from a dream. If I were any more fucking sentimental about it, I'd say that I kinda, in really sick way, missed him.

I'd been away from him for a year. I'd slept with countless groupies and fans since the very damn day I left, men women, it doesn't matter. Shit, I even fucked around with a few of the guys in the band, once I got them drunk enough.

But no one felt like this.

As I was thinking this and feeling his hand pump my cock, I got the crazy idea that maybe there was a reason I felt his way with Seth, and next to nothing with anyone else. I didn't even give myself the chance to let that though fester, I shook it off like a nightmare and shoved Seth hard on the chest. Since he had been kissing me, he was in no way prepared for this, so he flew. Only the safety bar saved him from totally wiping out.

Like a complete fucking douche bag with a godamn death wish, I waited half a second to see if he was ok before scrambling out of the tub, and of course he had the chance to grab my ankle and pull me back by then. Hell, I almost ate shit myself, but my hands protected my face from the tub rim.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Seth barked in my face when he had me standing.

"Let go, you fucking pervert!" I yelled right back and shoved at him again. We were both struggling and trying our damndest to make the other slip and keep ourselves standing.

"Mother fucker!" I screamed. I was in a rage, consumed by so many different feelings, especially ones I really didn't want floating around my head.

I didn't exactly keep up a very strict exercise regimen this whole time so he finally subdued me, but not before a decent ass kicking. It's funny, but as his hand squeezed my throat and hot water doused my face under the faucet, I could only feel disappointment that even after all that, the faggot still got me.

He loosened his grip as I started to fade and laughed. Even with my energy totally drained I still felt the sting from that laugh, like all that, how I just fought the hardest in my fucking life, and he was laughing. He had fucking scratch marks on his face, and he was laughing.

I wished he'd just cut the bullshit and kill me.

"Well, that was fun," he said. "Done?"" He let me go when I nodded, or tried to. I sat for a minute then Seth dropped a bar of soap on me. "Wash me," he said and stared down at me as I got up.

"What?" I asked, frowning. He answered with a yank on my hair, so I started rubbingt the soap on his chest begrudgingly. He was watching me the whole time, and I especially felt tnse when I got to his legs. I had to crouch. He shoved my head into his crotch, just as I dreaded. The soap clattered beside him while I fought for air.

"Come on, slut," he snarled, pushing his dick in all the way. I scratched and squeezed his legs, but he kept it in there, so far back I couldn't breathe or even swallow. He was fucking choking me with his cock, for fuck's sakes. He continued, and he gave me a quick snatch of air before shoving it back in. "I guess you won't be trying that shit again, will you?" He yanked my head away. "Right?"

I gasped and then whimpered, "No."

"Get out," he snapped. "Lie down on the your back. Right there, no there. Dammit, right fucking there, retard!" As I did this, he turned the water off and was standing over me. "Open your mouth," he said, and he grinned while water from his body dripped into my face. But that wasn't enough for him, because then, without warning, he pissed into my mouth. With the very first steaming, acrid drop I sputtered and threw my hands to my face. He stopped the flow (to this day I am impressed) and yelled, "Open yer godamn mouth!" and he kicked my side. With a soft, defeated whine I opened my mouth and took a good, heady stream, but spit it out as soon as I could. The son of a bitch diesn't say I had to drink it. He grunted with amusement and stood whit his feet at the sides of my head and then slapped me with his foot.

"You know the drill," he chuckled, prying my jaws open with his toes. He was holding onto the shower curtain as he forced me to lick and suck and gag; it would have been so easy with him so precariously balanced like that, to make him fall, maybe even crack his head open on the tub rim. Wouldn't take much, just a tug on the shin, a crunch on the toes...

He was telling me to get up. I barely sat up and he was dragging me up to the tub where he held my head under the faucet to rinse out my mouth. He even fucking scrubbed with soap.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I moaned, with the horrible motel soap taste thick in my mouth. Fucking didn't even really get the piss out, either.

"I want to be able to kiss you," Seth said, taking me to the bed.

"Fuck you."

"Uh huh," he said. Once he got me to the bed he took some kind of line from the cabinet. It was weird to see shit like that just materialize. Made me feel even more disoriented. He then stood me in front of him and pushed my hands behind my back. With that same arrogant, slimy smirk that's haunted my dreams since the day I left home, he tied my wrists together, his body vibrating against mine as he pulled the knots tight.

"You came all the way from Tomahawk just to fuck with me?" I asked, but mostly to distract myself from crying. Not like the tears in my eyes and my red-ass face wasn't enough of a fucking give away.

"I would've gone to your LA show, if I could have," he said, with a touch of anger in his voice. He held me by my hips and gazed at me, with this little smile on his lips. I realized then that he had missed me, and not just raping me either.

I let that thought pass and asked dryly, "Dad didn't let you go, did he?"

The tightening of his fingers was my answer. I knew damn well how much trouble doing this always gets me into, but fuck it if I could resist. "Come on, you're like 40 years old, what the fuck?"

"Shut the fuck up, idiot," he snarled, and he shoved me on the floor. With my arms stuck, I fumbled and crashed, my head just barely missing the end board. The fall knocked the wind out of me, but the look Seth's face was definitely worth it. I stared up at the fucker through my thick, tousled, still wet hair, panting.

"Dad doesn't tell me shit, alright?" He stood over me, and I noticed he was getting soft.

"So what took you so long?" I prodded. "It took you a whole year to save up or something? What, you had to fix your car?"

"You little turd," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you want me to hurt you?"

"You will anyway," I said as he grabbed me. I cried out from how hard he was pulling my hair. He pushed me into the bed, and when he went on all fours over me, I noticed something. "Hey, where'd you get shiner?"

Seth's face flashed red for a second and then he slapped me. "You, faggot, in the shower. Fucking duh!"

"No," I answered. "I distinctly remember not hitting your eye, and that bruise looks old, anyway."

With spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth, Seth snapped, "I'm gonna fucking gag you in a minute, if you don't shut the fuck up!"

Even though I cringed when he raised his hand, and my heart raced from the ferocity in his eyes, I still would not stop fucking with him. To be honest, I did actually want to know, too.

"How the fuck can you just let Dad hit you?" I asked, careful to sound like I was making fun of him. "Is that you're paying rent now?"

"That's it," he said, and then pushed me on the floor. Before I could do anything, he had my face to his cock. "I told you to shut the fuck up, Pickles!" he yelled. His pubes bristled against my nose, and I almost sneezed. The wet hairs stuck to my face. "That oughtta do it," he snarled as he forced it in. I thought about it, but at last microsecond decided against resisting him. Being forced into such a harsh position made my body intolerably sore and I realized, as my jaw starting aching from being opened so wide, that it was my brother that had kept me in shape when I was at home.

With the taste of his cock came a flood of memories, and of feelings, not just events. I remembered the shame that always filled me whenever he did these things to me, the brutal erections I could never control, even when he hurt me. The nasty, cruel mocking I'd get for it. I was hard even then, and was anticipating the inevitable fucking with excitement as well as dread. I kept telling myself that I was only feeling this way because it had been so long, this was like a new experience, after so many months of unsatisfying flings with strangers. I even tried to convince myself that I missed Marcus all this time, and Seth, being from the same town, was like the closest I could get to what you could call an ex-boyfriend.

But even trying to imagine Seth was someone else didn't work. I was getting hard from sucking my own brother's cock. Jesus, I've never felt so low, and I just wanted to be dead. All my anger, all that excitement from the fight, all those thoughts of trying to hurt him to get away, they all just faded into this bleak, dead feeling. I just slumped over, with my wrists snagging painfully from the ties, and cried. I didn't even care if he could hear me.

Seth gave me a minute and then pulled my head off. Threads of spit stretched from the head to my lips. "Get up here," he said, and just watched me coldly while I struggled, not being able to use my arms. He lay down flat on his back and I knelt over him, our eyes locked. His cock stood straight up, and looked intimidating, especially since I had a pretty good idea what he wanted me to do. I stayed still, too embarrassed to just do it without being told. "Come on, you whore," he snapped. "Get over here." I inched closer and he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer. Slowly he guided me down and said, "That's it, nice and easy." It wouldn't come even close to going in, and Seth didn't try to force it in, thank God. Instead he put in a few fingers, grinning at how my face instantly contorted with pain. "Come on, relax, bro," he said, his voice soothing. I sneaked looks at his face, and found him looking right back into mine every time. It was still painful, but soon enough his fingers pumping into me started to feel really fucking good. At first I was embarrassed to look at him, but eventually I found it an irresistible turn on to stare into his eyes as he fingered me.

Then he put his fingers on my cock, and I doubled over from the intense feelings. He had threw fingers inside me, and now his other hand jacking me off. Normally, his hand would be rough and tugging, but he was tender with me this time. My eyes were glued shut by this time, and I swear this was all too much for me. I was way past the point of feeling ashamed for getting off from my brother, and ready to come. All these thoughts tormented me, guilt, pleasure, shame, hatred. As I gyrated myself against his fingers, I started sobbing uncontrollably.

"Aww, what's wrong, little bro?" he asked in a voice that was at least half genuine, and he took his hand off my cock to run it through my hair. I felt my dick rubbing against his. "Don't you want this?"

I cleared my throat and forced out, "No, you douche bag!"

He scratched my scalp with his fingernails. It felt good. "Why not?"

I practically spat on him when I said, "It's fucking wrong, Seth! Look at this, you tied me up!" I cried out loud for a second, then went on, "Just let me go, Jesus Christ, please, leave me alone!"

He didn't seem to be phased by this at all. He just smiled and pulled me closer to him, using his fingers up my ass, and said, "I came all the way out here to watch my little brother play in his little band and spend some time with him. I'm not going anywhere until I'm done."

"So fucking wrong..." I whined.

"Cuz we're brothers?" he asked, suddenly aggressive. He yanked his fingers forward, sending severe pain and pleasure to shoot up my body, and held a tight grip on my hair. He had my face barely an inch from his own and his eyes have never seemed so alive. "Or because I had to take you by force? You're the one about to blow, Pickles! Look at you, riding my fingers like it were a cock, you're practically frothing at the mouth, you slut!"

"No, damn you, I don't want this, not from you."

He started pumping me harder and one finger just barely touched my prostate. I was moaning and sweating by now. My body was completely at his mercy; he was forcing me to feel this way, to be as disgusting and shameful as he wanted. I'm sure he could feel when I was getting close, because he eased up, making me feel so much more desperate. "You want to get fucked?" he hissed.

"No! Let me go, please let me go..."

"I am NOT letting you go," Seth growled and he took his hand off my hair to clamp down on my cock. There he went with the painful pulling again. He pulled it closer to him, bringing my face to his again. "Come on, Pickles, tell me. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you?"

I didn't say anything for a minute, just whined and trembled with eyes shut.

"Answer me, Pickles," Seth warned.

His probing got more impatient, and impossible for me to resist. Without looking at him, I finally whispered, "Yes." I meant it.

My cock twitched at the triumphant, arrogant smirk that spread on his lips. "What, what did you say?"

"Yes!" I hated him so much for this, but I didn't want him inside me any less.

"Beg me for it," he said, his eyes half closed, his bottom lip jutting out. He was...seductive.

"Please, Seth," I whispered. I could already feel my face heat up.

He jerked down on my hair and growled, "Come on, let me know you really want it, or I won't."

With fresh tears dribbling down my cheeks, I cried, "Please, please fuck me, Seth! Please fuck me, do it now!" And I was grinding my cock into his chest.

"Good boy!" he smirked and then pushed me on my back. My hands pressed into my back painfully, but I didn't care about that. I was too busy spreading my legs and raising my hips for him, moaning at the feel of his lips on my skin and his hands roughly pushing my legs where he wanted them. I was still sobbing, still tormented by guilt, still seeing my brother as an evil rapist, but damn if I wasn't horny as all Hell.

He was able to get it in the first try, and he gently stroked my cock to help me deal with the pain, then when it was in, he put his hands on the underside of my knees and plowed away. It was so hard, so aggressive, so fucking perfect. He slowed down after a while and just pumped nice and slow, trying to make it last. For these few minutes, he was like a lover to me, kissing, licking my neck, stroking my hair, rubbing his body against my cock. When he kissed my mouth I returned it, and even reached my tongue into his mouth. I figured I could always kill myself later for this, but I'd at least let myself enjoy it.

Then a kiss on my throat turned into a bite. He held my shoulder down while he dug his teeth into me, while I screamed out and writhed. His teeth also pressed down on an artery, making me begin to drift off. He let go and brought his face to my chest, nuzzling my skin, licking. I tensed up and moaned with fear when he put his tongue to my nipple. Sure enough, he bit it, and it felt like he was cutting it off. I swear he held on for an entire minute. I burst into tears from the pain, but, combined with the fucking, it only made me harder.

This whole time he hurt me, I did not ask him to stop.

He started to fuck me harder now, and we were both making plenty of noise. I drank in the soft, vulnerable look on his face as he gazed down at me, seconds from coming. He leaned down to whisper in my ear, "You wanna come?"

"Yes, please, yes!" I shouted.

"Beg!" he said throatily. His voice was so dark and husky in my ear.

So I did, I begged as earnestly and pitifully as I could, and I didn't stop even as he furiously pumped my cock with his hand. When I felt him come inside me, I lost it, my hands in tight fists behind my back. I screamed and exploded into his hand, while his own spent body leaned onto mine, shivering.

We lay like that, trembling, sweating, panting, for a few minutes. His softening cock was still inside me, and he was lying on top of me. My hands felt dead, but my entire body was empty. I felt the warmth of his body and his arm around my chest with a bittersweet kind of glow. If this man on top of me could have been anyone, fucking anyone else...

He untied me without saying anything or even really looking at me. I could see the beginning of tears in his eyes, and his face was totally drawn, but I didn't say anything. He leaned down to kiss my mouth and give my bottom lip a savage little bite, and then got dressed. I watched, desperately wanting to say something, but I really didn't know what. Should I tell him to go to Hell? Should I saw something sweet and nice? Something under the belt cruel? I'm sure he was thinking the same thing.

He didn't even look back or say anything at all when he left. I stayed on that bed, naked and covered in jizz from him and myself, waiting to see if he would come back. A sense of relief filled me, now that he was gone, finally, and my hands were untied. I figured I might never see him again, and I could go back to my life with my band, with my new friends. I was free, maybe forever, maybe just until he found me again.

It took a lot for me to crawl into the shower, where I stayed for almost an hour, crying. I knew there was no one I could talk to about this, and nothing I could do. I just kept thinking about ways I could kill myself, knowing full well I'd never have the guts.

***

I thought I was free from him once we got back to Mordhaus, but no, the fucker had to follow me down the hall and try to talk to me again. I had the other guys around, but I still felt like I was trapped in a box with him, like he was creating this bubble for just us two. He had been talking about this fucking plan of his to be like a manager or promotional manager since the ride back, and just him asking about something as innocent as that made me feel the same as when he'd tell me to blow him.

More than that, he was trying to control me in front of my friends, and even they could have no idea how this felt. He'd grab my arm and make it look like he was just talking, just being friendly, but his eyes would be dark and criticizing, his grip painfully tight, everything about him just shoving his dominance down my throat. I felt like a cornered animal just about strike.

"Come on, Pickles, you know it'd be a good idea," he sneered, and I could feel his thumb stroke my arm while he held it. My mind was bursting with memories, all the pain from the past screaming for attention. "Don't you want me here to help you? Like old times, eh?"

That did it. Screaming, I flung his hand off and shoved him viciously away. He tumbled over himself and almost fell while everyone stared at me, stunned. Mom and Dad especially. "You mother fucking pervert!" I yelled at him. As I stormed up to him, he backed away, the filthy coward. I could tell from his eyes, that he knew I was serious this time. This would be the end of it. "How dare you? How dare you pull that shit on me? Help me? Help me?!" He was against the opposite wall by now, staring at me. I shot an accusing look at Mom and Dad, giving them both an equal share of my wrath. "He raped me!" I gave them a second to absorb that and went on, "For years, for years! He's been raping me, using me for fucking years! He's sick, he's a rapist!"

Mom gave a small, nervous laugh while everyone else stared, barely breathing. "What, what are you talking about, dear? I've never heard anything..."

"No, you didn't, and you wouldn't. You were too busy with your own shit, Mahm. And you, Dad," I shouted, pointing at him. Both parents were shriveling. It was kind of a cool feeling. "I was dead to you. I was dead to you both! While you were golfing and going on trips and all that shit, Seth was molesting me, beating me up, he was fucking doing horrible, horrible things to me! This was since I was 14 years old, Mahm and Dad, and you NEVER knew!" I panted, trying to catch my breath. "I won't even tell you what he did to me today!"

"Seth," Mom asked, frowning. I could tell she really didn't believe this, or at least sure didn't want to.

Seth's face was white, and he looked like a beaten dog, crumpled against the wall, head down and staring up at her. He had tears running down his face and looked ready to pass out or throw up. Then he stood up and scanned all the faces that were trained on him, snapping at everyone, "Go on and judge, you douche bags. None of you have any fucking idea. All you pricks in your nice, easy little lives, fuck you!" Then he looked at me for a long time. His eyebrows were furrowed and for a second I deeply regretted what I did, just to see such pain in his face, and then he walked out. I stared after him and forced any feelings other than hatred from my mind.

The other parents all made ready to leave, and I made it obvious that I was not going to even try to listen to mine, so they ended up leaving too. The guys lingered to stay with me, but eventually they had to see their families off, and Murderface stayed behind to put a hand on my shoulder. I turned and fell into his arms, just enjoying the feeling of someone holding me. I cried bitterly into his shoulder, because I was imagining it was Seth's arms so warm and tight around me.

THE END


End file.
